A Daring Liaison(82)

There would be mending to do tomorrow by the number of little rips she heard in their urgency, but she could not regret it. Once her gown was upon the floor and her stockings and garters tossed across the room, Charles seized her and fell back upon her bed, ignoring the rest.

“God help me, I cannot wait,” he moaned.

Her breasts swelled above her chemise and were pushed higher by her corset. She reached for the laces and Charles shook his head. “Now, damn it.” He lifted the hem of her chemise and pulled her on top of him.

Oh, the perceptive man! He had sensed what she wanted. She straddled him and sank onto his erect shaft, dropping her head back at the sheer deliciousness of the sensation. She ground against him, finding the depth of his penetration to be wildly erotic. She’d have been content to remain there longer, grinding against him, but he finally gasped and gripped her hips, lifting her and letting her sink again, teaching her his rhythm.

As she took to his guidance, he released her hips to skim his hands upward to her breasts and flick the taut peaks with his thumbnails. With both hands free, he worked a sensual magic on her, intensifying her arousal and sending her spiraling higher. She emitted an involuntary sound, half pain, half pleasure, as the quaking began inside her.

Charles must have felt the first stirrings of her tremors because he thrust hard, his hips rising off the bed to impale her inescapably. “Charles! Oh, Charles. Oh, yes!”

She could feel the power of his release inside her and collapsed on him, her loosened hair tumbling around them.

“Georgie, ah, my sweet, sweet Georgie. Will I ever have enough of you?” Still joined, he rolled with her until he had the superior position. “That just dulled the urgency, Georgie. Now let’s get down to business.”

He began to move inside her again, growing longer and thicker with alarming speed, her own arousal building apace. Resting his weight on his elbows, he brushed her hair away from her face and grinned.

“You surprise me,” he whispered, still moving within her. “And I am not easy to surprise.”

She smiled and stretched her arms above her head as she lifted her knees to encase his hips. “You make me feel beautiful, Charlie. And unafraid. And confident that you will not chastise me for my boldness.”

His gaze never left hers. “I will never chastise you for that. I will thank God every night for it.”

And before she could think better of it, she uttered the words she had guarded so long. “I love you, Charles Hunter. I always have.”

“Ah, Georgie.” He sighed, and she imagined a hint of sadness in the words.

He quickened his pace and she writhed beneath him, seeking to take all of him and to bind him to her for eternity but knowing it was just for tonight. Tomorrow? Why, tomorrow would likely see an end to all her foolish dreams.

* * *

The next morning Charles was barely aware of his surroundings as his coach stopped outside the Home Office and he stepped down. “Do not wait, Peters,” he called to his driver. “I will not need you again today.”

As the coach pulled away, he was distracted by thoughts—memories, actually—of last night and of Georgiana. She’d been surprisingly eager and deeply sensual. He had not rung for dinner to be brought until sometime near midnight and then they’d fallen back into bed. He’d held her and they’d succumbed to the deep dreamless slumber of utter exhaustion.

And still, his every instinct told him that she was hiding something. Afraid of something. He wanted to reassure her and tell her that everything would come aright, but he very much feared it wouldn’t. If Foxworthy was released today, Georgiana would be arrested by tomorrow. And then it would be too late to save her.

The laudanum bottle still weighted his greatcoat pocket. He’d forgotten about it again last night, and he could not throw it away in daylight. He might be seen and remarked upon, or the bottle could be retrieved by some observant boatman. He would have to find a safer way to dispose of it.

From the right corner of his eye, he caught a flurry of motion. Instinct drove him to lunge right and turn. Something caught in the fabric of his jacket and ripped through. The slash of a knife bit into his skin and a searing pain slashed across his left rib cage. When he reached to catch the hand that held the knife, the wound opened wider and the pain nearly doubled him over. If he could not rally, he was a dead man. The sound of shouting and running feet reached him and, even as the man pulled away, a whiff of the sewer revealed his identity.

“Gibbons!”